


Tales of Karin'tor - A fantasy Bethyl AU

by Ambrosia29



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Original, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-05-28
Packaged: 2018-06-10 14:37:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6961009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ambrosia29/pseuds/Ambrosia29
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What if?" The question is a valid one. "What if" we make different choices? "What if" the past had been different? "What if" we had taken another road? Who would we be? Ourselves? Someone else entirely? What makes us who we are? Is it our lineage or the choices we make? The blood in our veins or our souls?</p><p>These questions plague Beth as she explores a world of fantasy, guided by Glenn, while she and Team Family wait out a blizzard during their first winter at their prison-home.</p><p>"Beryl" is torn from the life she knows when The Pale One and his army destroy her home and take her father captive. Torn between duty and family, she races to warn the King. Beset upon by rogues and aristocrats alike, who is friend or foe?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Dark Cloud

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this while in a flux of lacking fanfiction, and my usual outlet of gaming. I began to wonder to myself, "What if" Team Family were playing D&D? Who would be the Game Master? Who would create what sort of character? Who would play? The story grew from there and promises to be in the realms of 'longer'. Be warned, the tale will be told primarily from the viewpoint of the characters Team Family will play. Some will have cameo's as NPC's and others will be Player Characters. I will intersperse this with the viewpoints of our beloved Family as they play though. Gods know, people when they're gaming are excellent comedy relief. I hope you can enjoy this! It's still a little rough.

 

Cast of Characters

**Hershel** : Count Herkimer de la Terra, _palladin_ (retired from service)

 **Josephine** : Countess Denyse de la Terra, Morganite’s mother & Herkimer’s first wife (deceased), _cleric_

 **Annette** : Countess Serena de la Terra, Beryl’s mother & Herkimer’s second wife (deceased), _herb-woman_

 **Shaun:** The Honorable Sard De la Terra, Count Herkimer’s eldest son and heir (deceased) _, fighter  
_

**Maggie** : The Honorable Morganite de la Terra, Count Herkimer’s eldest daughter and living heir, _fighter_

 **Beth** : Lady Beryl de la Terra, Count Herkimer’s youngest daughter & Morgan’s half-sister, _bard_

 **Otis** : Henrik Orison, a _Man-at-Arms_ in service to Count Herkimer, _fighter_

 **Patricia** : Charmaine Orison, a _minstrel_ living and entertaining in the de la Terra household and Beryl’s favorite tutor.

 **Randall**  : Wolff Uniron, Morganite & Beryl’s childhood friend, a _Villein_ of the de la Terra holdings.

 **Jimmy** : Jacobi Anteon, Beryl’s childhood friend, confidant and would-be lover, son of a _Small Holder_ in her father’s land.

 

Prologue

_The prison sat silent, nothing more than the soft sounds of Michonne exercising, Daryl cleaning his weapons and Beth humming quietly. The barest sounds echoed along the corridors. They’d been snowed in for a day, grateful for the break. It was cold enough the walkers were either frozen solid or bogged down in snow-banks and couldn’t get to them. So they waited, made repairs where they could and otherwise passed the time._

_After the third day of endless white, Beth had grown tired of singing, Daryl had cleaned his weapons and equipment before offering to go through the guns Rick had brought back and cleaned those too. Beth watched from between bouts of reading a boring book as he finished the last of the handguns._

_Glenn had returned from watch, trading with Maggie and Carl. Hershel and Rick were in another room talking and playing with Judith, giving Beth a break._

_“So, um…” Glenn said, “I found something a while back. Been saving it for,” he blushed slightly and rubbed the back of his neck, “well, a rainy day. Just in case we get bored.” Beth sat up straighter and looked over at him._

_“Spit it out, Glenn,” she said good-naturedly, “What’d ya find?”_

_Glenn smiled and held out a hand, “Wait here, I’ll go get it.” He dashed out for cell block C and came back shortly, carrying a stack of books and papers. He sat them on the table. Beth came and sat at the table with him, lifting the top volume._

_“‘The Dungeon Master’s Guide?’” she read aloud, a smile in her voice, “Glenn I didn’t know you played_ D&D _.”_

 _He looked at her with a little surprise, “You know what D &D _is _?”_

_“Sure. It’s been a heck of a long time, but Jimmy and his friends used to play. I was usually too busy.”_

_“Well, do you want to try it?” She shrugged._

_“Why not? Nothin better t’do. Besides, I think you’ll make a good D.M.”_

_He grinned and sat down, sorting the volumes and lifted a folder. Lifting out a sheet of paper, he handed it to her. “I made this for you. Thought you might like it.”_

_She smiled as she read, “You made me a character! 'Beryl?'” she mused aloud, looking at him._

_“It’s a blue-green stone,” he explained. She shifted in her seat and moved closer. He handed her a set of dice and sat back, grabbing another sheet of paper, "I made everyone a character, actually.”_

_Daryl glanced over at them, an eyebrow raised as he checked a magazine._

_"Thought everyone might like to try it out, at least. How ‘bout it, Daryl?”_

_Daryl turned his attention back to the guns. “Nah,” he said around his cigarette, “Gotta finish this.” He went back to polishing._

_“So,” Glenn began, “We’ll do a solo story for you, Beth and people can join later if they want. I made up the world, it’s called ‘Karin’Tor’ and…_

 

* * *

 

 

Beryl pressed her lips against his own, relishing the warmth, the soft texture. His calloused palms gently stroked her cheeks, hot from the blush suffusing them. She pulled away, guilt forming a knot in her throat. “We shouldn’t,” she whispered.

“I know.” He said softly. He pulled her into an embrace, burying his face in her hair and inhaling deeply. She let him, holding him in return. Her oldest friend. She pulled back to look into his blue eyes and put on a brave, sweet smile.

Jacobi. His peasant clothes and tousled hair contrasted sharply against her own, hanging in a long plait down her back. She wore a simple kirtle of soft white wool, the high quality of the material a subtle difference beneath the drab grey cloak she wore.

They’d been sneaking away to spend time together more and more often of late, no doubt to the suspicion of her Father, Count Herkimer. As his youngest daughter, she had been brought up to expect nothing less than marrying a member of the Peerage or the Aristocracy.

She knew, from the beginning, that this could only go so far. They’d been lucky that they hadn’t been caught, that her father was a kind and understanding man. They’d been friends since childhood, since she and her sister, Morganite, had climbed over a fence and into a field in search of rabbits. That was how she met him: he’d caught her one, which she kept as a pet until it passed several years later. She’d still been a child, then.

The sounds of hoof beats sent them flying from one another, she kneeling on the ground to inspect a non-existent pebble in her shoe while he kept his hands on his hips and stared down at her in an attempt to look concerned.

Glancing up, she took in the blue-grey eyes of her sister, her light brown hair braided around her head in a tight cap. Her riding clothes were also brown but her face stopped Beryl short. “Morgan, what’s wrong?”

“Come with me,” she said sharply. She held out her hand and helped Beryl up behind her on the horse. She glanced at Jacobi and back at Beryl, but said nothing. Beryl sensed she knew, a lump forming in her stomach. “Go home, Jacobi,” Morganite said firmly as she rode away.

“What are you doing, Beryl?” Morganite asked irritably, concern plain in her voice.

“Nothing,” she replied firmly.

“Don’t lie to me, little sister. I know you’re sweet on the boy. Won’t be fair for him, if’n you two get caught.” Beryl laid her cheek against her sister’s shoulder and said nothing more as they rode to the Keep.

“Stay inside,” Morgan said as she handed the reins to the stable-boy. “I think there’s trouble coming and I don’t want you getting into any more trouble.” Beryl nodded and followed her sister though the courtyard and into the double-doors.

“Morgan,” she said, stopping their departure, “What’s wrong?”

Morgan turned to her and looked her in the face. She smiled, but it was a false one meant to keep her from worrying. “It could be nothing. I’ll come tell you if something comes from it.”

There they parted ways, she taking the left, toward her bower while Morgan took the right to the great hall and their father.

* * *

 

The drawing room was warm from the fire and sunlight streaming through the windows, the glass a gift from one of their vassals, a glass-worker. Herkimer stood, wearing his customary brown trews and matching velvet tunic. Denyse, his first wife, had insisted he wear clothes suited to his station while not in the field. The brown had been their compromise.

He smiled when he saw his heir enter, blue eyes crinkling in his weathered face. He strode to Morgan, raising his arms to embrace her. She pulled up short and laid a hand on his arm to stop him.

“Father, there’s something wrong.” He blinked and looked into her eyes, reading the concern reflected in blue.

“What is it?”      

“When I was in the woods today” she often went hunting when her duties didn’t keep her busy, “There was a quiet. But there were no signs of predators and the silence wasn’t…natural. I’ve got a bad feeling.”

“Morgan, you know we can’t alarm our people needlessly. Did you see anything? I can’t just tell them you ‘had a feeling.’”

“I know. I –I think I saw tracks. Goblin tracks.” His eyes grew dark with foreboding and he took a deep breath.

“I’ll send out Henrik immediately. Where, approximately did you see these tracks?”

“It was in the east, near the ridge. I’ll go with him.”

“Alright, but _be careful_. I’ll organize the guard and make sure we’re prepared. For anything.”

 

* * *

 

Beryl sat in her bower and wondered what had been going on. She’d spent time tuning and cleaning her _rebec_ a few times before she tried to play to calm herself. It was an interesting instrument, a gift from her father. She smiled, remembering how he presented it to her. She’d seen it in his drawing room growing up, always curious. The tales he’d told…

It was a strange piece of functional art, reinforced around the bowl with metal. It was reinforced in a lot of places and its strings were made up of different metals as well. He’d told her it was used by a dear friend of his in The War. While it was meant for use in battle, he approved of Beryl learning to play and use it for more peaceful ends. He felt its previous owner, the King’s Bard and one of his Companions during The War, Thalessen the Blighted, would have approved as well.

She kept playing, drawing the bow across the strings until her sole focus was on the instrument. After settling into a simple tune of a lullaby, she continued to play until she didn’t need to consider shifting the bow over which strings, _when_ or how. She focused on times when she’d felt relaxed, sitting in the sun outside with her sister, playing for her father before he retired for the evening, meals and holidays they’d shared.

The vibrations of the familiar instrument did calm her, but then she’d been practicing what Charmaine had been trying to teach her. She smiled softly to herself when she realized it had worked. She had tuned into that inner space in her mind, her heart, where the music resided. And brought it forth through her instrument and calmed herself with that subtle magic.

A knock on the door broke through her quiet exultation. She laid the instrument aside and went to the door, puzzled to find neither Morgan nor Herkimer on the other side. It was an older boy, one of Morgan’s friends and a _villein_ of their lands. His dark hair was combed back, slick with oil and his clothes were clean, well kept. He held out a piece of paper to her wordlessly. She took it, leaving the door open as she went to the fireplace to see more clearly as she read the note.

_Meet me tonight after dusk._

There was nothing more. She looked up, a thrill of fear breaking the last of her self-enchantment. She whirled to the young man at the door. “Wolff, did he give this to you?” They’d spent enough time together he’d known whom she meant. He nodded.

“Your father’s ordered everyone to stay inside. Everyone’s been moving behind the walls for the night until he’s sure we’re safe.” She cursed quietly and he blinked, startled at her sharp word. “He’s out there, Lady Beryl. We didn’t receive the orders until after he’d left.” She cursed again vehemently and whirled for the closet, retrieving a jacket and her cloak. She slipped them on while Wolff waited by the door.

“What are you doing?” he asked incredulously.

“I have to go after him! He doesn’t know! If something happened to him –

She couldn’t finish the thought. She grabbed her knife and slid the sheath into the top of her boot.

“I’ll go with you,” Wolff said. She nodded and thanked him.

“Morgan would appreciate it,” she said, fingering the gemstone at her neck.

* * *

 

They’d snuck out through the kitchens and servant’s entrance to the Keep. It helped to have Wolff there, she realized. In her drab grey-colored cloak, she was less noticeable next to him and less suspicious. Together they walked in the shadows of the buildings and when they got to the gates, she took a sharp left for a spot on the wall which had deeper shadows.

There was a small structure, thatched, which held grain. She climbed from a stack of crates to the top and from there to the wall and began climbing with ease.

“Do this often?” Wolff asked.

“Only three times a month,” she grunted as she climbed higher on the use-smoothed stones, “for the past several months.”

“Jeez,” he muttered, “What about the guards?” He began climbing up behind her, paying attention to where she placed her hands and feet as she climbed.

“They can’t see us. I came by while bringing water to the guards one day and made off with a sconce and its torch. Makes it harder to see us.”

They scaled the wall and down the other side in silence. When they made it to the ground Beryl took off like a shot for the western woods.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who left a review and/or expressed interest. I'm still working on Wolf with Red Roses but I couldn't stand the thought of not updating SOMETHING this weekend and thought you might appreciate this change of pace. 
> 
> Yes, this is not up to my usual caliber of writing. I'll eventually polish this more but for now? I'll be over here. Hope you enjoy!

Beryl’s lungs burned. Her legs burned. Everything burned. Her lungs heave with exertion and she fought for every breath.

 

 _Jacobi,_ she thought, _where’n the hell are you?_

She’d been running, searching for him for almost half an hour. She’d broken into a run for his home when she realized he wasn’t in their customary meeting place in the woods. Wolff was beside her.

 

“Wait” he said suddenly, stopping. She skidded to a stop, looking back at him.

 

“What is it?” she said in a loud whisper. She shrank into herself when she heard it.

 

There were soft sounds all around them. Of twigs creaking beneath soft-soled feet. Of… _breathing_. She felt the hairs on the back of her neck rise as a thrill of terror shot through her. She cautiously knelt, reaching beneath her skirt to pull out the knife in her boot.

 

With a loud cry and mixed laughter, a group of goblins sprang from the foliage around her. She slashed wildly with her knife, shouting, “Wolff, stand together!” The goblins didn’t advance and she wondered why, looking at them with wide blue eyes and a grim set to her mouth. She was a De la Terre. She wouldn’t go quietly.

 

“I’ve got your back,” she heard Wolff say close behind. She turned to check on him, find out if he’d grabbed a weapon. She took in the large branch he hefted in both hands and met his eyes with a shout of protest just as he swung it into her head.

 

 _I’m sorry_ , she heard echo through her head as she slipped into blackness and heard no more.

* * *

 

 

 

The first thing she was aware of was the throbbing in her head. It seemed to emanate from somewhere to the side of her head. She moaned, tasting blood, and opened her eyes. She struggled to move but found her hands tightly bound, her bonds biting into her wrists while her fingers bean to tingle. The goblins were still surrounding her but the scenery was different. Instead of the forest she’d found herself inside what looked, of all things, like an awning draped at the sides. They rippled slowly in the breeze.

 

“Oh, good, you’re awake,” said a familiar voice. Though her eyes stung with bitter tears at the betrayal, she gathered the blood in her mouth and spat on the floor before him as he approached. “No need to be like that, m’Lady,’ he said softly, “Believe it or not, I’m actually trying to help you.”

 

“Bullshit.” She said.

 

A goblin poked its ugly head inside, green-tinged skin mottled with a sickly yellow-green and red eyes bulging in its face. It grunted something unintelligible in a grumbling tongue when it registered that she was awake, but Beryl took it to mean trouble, especially when it disappeared once more.

 

“That,” sighed Wolff, “means we don’t have much time” his tone was grim. He knelt before her, eyes beseeching. “Beryl, please. You don’t know who these people are, what they’re capable of. They’ll kill you, your sister – your entire family and the whole Keep if you don’t cooperate and _help_ me.”

 

“Why should I relieve you?” she snarled. He raised his hand as if to slap her, eyes hard. She flinched and he softened, lowering his hand.

 

“I’m not trying to hurt you. I’m trying to save you. Save us, everyone.”

 

“Is Jacobi even still alive?”

 

“Yes,” he nodded and looked to the left, “for now anyway. Listen, they want these lands and they’ll do anything to get them, even if it means destroying them in the process, surely you know what that means! There is another way, an easier way.” He took a deep breath and licked his lips.

 

“This way no one gets hurt. They can take the land legally. No one has to die. I can protect Jacobi, I can protect you…” he paused, intently looking into her eyes, pleading with her to hear him. She listened intently, waiting, hardly daring to wonder what he could be trying to say.

 

“If you marry me and I become a vassal beneath Him, then they control these lands. Even our people’s laws support it –

 

“I’ll _never_ marry you! Traitor!” She spat again, this time catching him in the face with blood and saliva. He closed his eyes, features twisting, darkening in anger. He slowly reached up and dabbed at the offensiveness on his cheek. His eyes narrowed as he regarded her blood on his fingers.

 

“Just you remember,” he said slowly, sharply jabbing a finger in her direction, “I tried to help you.” He stood and walked to the flap of the door, turning to regard her once more. “If you change your mind, do it quickly. The Pale One won’t be so patient with your…insolence.”

 

He turned to go and Beryl struggled against her bonds, struggling to maintain feeling in her fingers. The ropes burned her skin when she twisted them, finding some way of loosening them – was she bleeding? – inside those tight confines. She looked around for something – anything – she could cut them with. Her boots! She glanced down and wriggled her foot inside but couldn’t feel her knife's sheathe.

 

She heard the approach of yet more goblins, their muttering language difficult without being closer. She lay still for a moment, trying to listen and see if she could catch anything familiar. She caught the words, ‘yellow’ and ‘blade’ – they were similar enough to the Orcish language and Herkimer had insisted she learn the languages of their foes from the War.

 

Before she was able to break free, a figure stepped through the flap. He was tall, taller than her father was. He wore a white cloak and robe, tied at the waist with a white cord and a belt. His face was obscured by the shadows within the low-hanging hood. “Now,” he said softly, his voice lilting slightly, “I’ll have none of that my dear.”

 

Beryl glared at him, stilling herself despite her desire to flee. “As the young ‘Master’ Wolff has already informed you, I have a plan. It could,” he said speculatively, looking at the firelight glimmering on his long talon-like nails, “include you and your family.” His hood dropped as though he was looking at her but she couldn’t be sure, “But that depends entirely on you, my dear.”

 

He knelt before her and she caught his scent, reminding her of dark places no one should be alone in at night. The scent brought back a memory of a graveyard, pleading for her mother in the dark and the wet gravelly stones beneath her fingers. She shook at the memory and fought to push it away, to see beneath the hood.

 

As she watched, he pulled out a small vial and pulled out the stopper. She moved to lurch backward but he struck like a snake, catching her jaw with cruel strong fingers. “Drink,” he said coldly as he poured the liquid down her throat. She resisted and he pressed the hand holding the bottle over her nose and mouth. After struggling for what felt like a long time, her vision began to fade into stars and she gasped when air was suddenly reintroduced into her lungs. She choked for air, the fluid sliding down her throat as he tipped her head back. He released her, stepping back quickly.

 

She coughed and spat, trying get it out but felt no different several minutes later. “What did you do?” she asked, her tone cold and angry.

 

“Devil’s Tongue,” he said with pride, “So tell me, my dear…will you agree to wed and ally yourself and your lands with me and mine?” She hesitated and he held up a hand, “Wait. Before you answer.” He snapped his fingers and several goblins dragged Jacobi into the room. Tears stung her eyes as she saw him, face bruised and bloody. A glimmer of hope and fear flitted through his eyes when he saw her. When he tried to speak, the goblin behind him laid a blow to the back of his head. He remained silent, watching everything with sullen eyes. She glared over his head when Wolff came in behind him, standing beside Jacobi. He gave her a look she couldn’t read.

 

“Now my dear,” said The Pale One, nodding to the goblins behind the familiar young men, who drew weapons. “Will you wed Wolff and ally yourself with us?”

 

Beryl took a breath to give herself a moment’s time, uncertain how to answer. Of course she couldn’t. But if she agreed, then Jacobi would be spared. _I can do this_. She took another breath, prepared to give her answer.

 

“I’d rather die than marry such an awful traitor.”

 

The words hung in the sudden silence of the room, her wide eyes and hand clapped to her mouth belying her surprise.

 

“You heard her,” said The Pale One. The goblins behind Wolff raised their weapons silently and struck, skewering him through the middle. His eyes bulged in pain and shock to see the weapon protruding. He raised a hand to Beryl and opened his mouth to speak but all that came out was a small splash of blood. The goblin yanked his weapon free and kicked Wolff to the ground.

 

“Get that out of here,” said The Pale One casually. The order was followed and Beryl watched in tears as one of her lifetime companions, traitorous or no, was dragged out of the tent still breathing and dying, destined for what she could only guess…and fear. Regret and horror formed a lump in her throat, closing off anything she could have said to The Pale One.

 

“Now.” He said decisively. “The rest of your options are thus: join me, the boy lives. Refuse and you both die.”

 

Her throat went dry. _Why had I said that?_ He smiled, finger lifting to his lips.

 

“You’re wondering what happened,” he stated flatly. Not trusting her own voice, she nodded cautiously.

 

“It is a little potion I devised. Its effects last…well, I’m not sure. It depends on the person. And it keeps others who take it from lying to me. Now, if you please: Join me or no? State your choice.”

 

She looked down at the ground and then back up to Jacobi. She knew what she needed to say, but it would only be a lie. And she couldn’t utter it now. Her eyes teared up and she shut her mouth firmly, lifting her chin defiantly.

 

A blow connected to the side of her head and sent her reeling back into the dirt. She shook, trying to lift herself by her bound hands, fists pushing against the earth beneath her.

 

“You will answer me,” he said, threat and warning in is voice. He waited a moment while she righted herself and she looked over at Jacobi again, terrified to answer the awful question. She still said nothing. Jacobi looked at her, eyes steady. Determined and resolute.

 

The Pale One sighed and waved a hand absently in the air. “Kill the boy,” he said casually.

 

Beryl lurched forward, a  horse cry of “NO!” ripping its way out of her throat as a sword thrust its way out of Jacobi’s chest. His eyes were wide with agony and he twisted in his bonds, eyes on her as he gasped his last breath.

 

She struggled in her bonds, twisting on the floor. Fought against the ties, against her terror, against the grief and rage that took hold of her. “You bastard!” she shrieked, “Jacobi is my friend you’ll have to kill me before I’ll marry you, even if I don’t love him!” she said it all in a furious rush and he looked on bemusedly at her tirade. She was shocked just as much by her words as by the fury inside her.

 

“That’s quite enough,” he said with an air of amused calm. A clawed hand suddenly reached for her and she twisted to avoid his grasp but it wasn’t enough. His hand grabbed her upper arm and squeezed. There was a burning sensation where his skin touched hers. As he dug his claws into the flesh of her arm she sobbed against the pain, feeling her arm go numb before everything went black once more.

 _You will submit to me…and you WILL join me…it is just a matter of time,_ whispered a terrible voice in her mind. Idly she wondered to herself why this stranger wanted _her_ as darkness took her once again.

 

The Pale One stood, releasing her arm and smiled with satisfaction before he turned to leave. “Bring her,” he commanded the goblins. The four-foot creatures gathered her unconscious form and carried her outside to follow their master.


End file.
